


Pretty When You Cry

by jouissant



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Crying, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Lacrimophilia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is a crier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty When You Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the [Pinto Kink Meme. ](http://www.pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com)

Chris was a crier. Zach learned this about him reasonably early in their association, watching some movie or other that, if he recalls correctly, wasn’t even all that sad. He’d heard a little sniffle at first, then a slightly louder sniffle, and then he’d looked over to find honest-to-god tears rolling down Chris’s face. When Chris had realized Zach was looking, he’d flushed the color of a beet and turned away, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

“Are you okay?” Zach had said, possibly a little incredulously. 

“Oh my god,” said Chris. “This is so embarrassing. Yeah, I’m good, I’m--I just cry, man. At movies and stuff. I can’t help it.” 

Zach had reached over and patted Chris soothingly on the knee. “No worries,” he said. “You’re...in touch with your emotions. It’s a good thing.” 

As it turned out, crying at Pixar movies, life insurance commercials, and Ryan Gosling’s entire oeuvre did not necessarily translate to “in touch with one’s feelings,” though Zach couldn’t have known it at the time. But the point was, years of sexual tension and dumbassery and fraught flirting later, he and Chris were finally a thing. A good thing. A _very_ good thing, especially where Zach’s dick was concerned. Well, sure, his heart too, and his brain and all the rest of it. Only...Zach had the feeling that his heart and brain had been lost to Chris from the very start, even back on the couch that time. So it stood to reason, then, that the crying had gotten wrapped up in it all. 

Because not only was Chris a crier, he was a very pretty crier. 

Zach was not a pretty crier. He was fine with it; his directors had always been perfectly happy with his technique, and anyway, real life crying wasn’t ever a single perfect tear anyway. Chris’s crying...well, it went way beyond technical acumen, and Zach’s interest in it went way beyond professional curiosity. 

The first time Chris cried hard at a movie after they were together, Zach had paused to consider for a second and then moved smoothly over Chris to settle into his lap, wrap one arm around his shoulders and thumb along the tracks of his tears with the other hand, inspecting their paths down Chris’s stubbly cheek, the way they ran over his lips and pooled in the divot below his nose. 

“What’re you doing?” Chris sniffed. 

“Shh,” Zach said. He kissed Chris, tasted the salt on his mouth and moaned. 

“Zach?” 

“Come to bed,” Zach said. He’d fucked Chris deep and slow, and couldn’t stop thinking of the way the tears had shimmered hot and heavy in Chris’s eyes, welled up and finally spilled over. The way he’d made a soft little noise when they did, like it was some kind of release. 

After that, Zach paid much closer attention to what made Chris cry. Sad movies. Sad books, though not as readily. News reports, though those were usually sobering enough to cancel out any hotness. Pain--Chris banged his head on the kitchen cabinet once and Zach had to make a surreptitious trip to the bathroom after he saw the way Chris gasped, the way a pair of fat tears had slipped out as he clapped his hand to the back of his head and cursed. Zach had only felt a little bit bad for that. 

Chris found out by accident. Zach had never really meant him to; He wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but his little preoccupation was just that: a preoccupation. Plus, when your boyfriend cried, medicinal sex was a time-tested remedy that didn’t usually go amiss. So he multitasked. For a good long while, too, because it wasn’t as if Chris cried all that often. 

The day it happened, Chris had just gotten in from a shoot in London. They were both based in L.A. at the moment, which was nice, even if Zach did miss New York City way too much. Chris had straggled in the door looking absolutely wrecked, and Zach had wasted no time steering him into the bedroom, where he opened the bathroom door and started matter-of-factly filling up the tub. 

“Get undressed and get in here,” he said to Chris. “I’ve got takeout on the way, from that Thai place you like.” 

“Mm,” Chris hummed, padding into the bathroom with his shirt off, bare feet slapping lightly on the tile floor. “You’re so nice to me.” 

Zach smiled and kissed him, and left him to the bathtub without another word. 

After Chris was clean and fed and had yawned through a quarter of a movie, Zach insisted on taking them to bed. 

“I can stay up,” Chris said. “Seriously. And it’s better for the jetlag.” 

“Jetlag is our constant companion, Pine,” Zach said. “It’s late enough, and you look like crap. Now march.” He tried to take Chris by the shoulder and shove him in the diection of the bedroom, but Chris jerked away. 

“Dude, I said I’m fine,” he said, bristling. “Look, thanks for the food and stuff, but I’m a fucking adult. And I’m not fucking sleepy.” 

Zach held up his hands. “Fine,” he said. “You realize you sound like a preschooler right now, though, right?” Chris glowered, and Zach sighed. 

“Whatever, pass out on the couch. I’m going to go read in bed or something.” He knew better than to push when Chris was tired; he got like this, grouchy as hell. It was minimally annoying, especially since Zach _had_ actually missed Chris, and there was a whole list of things he’d rather do than snap at him and go to bed pissed. Whatever, he thought again. There was no reasoning with Chris like this. So he waved a hand back behind him in the direction of the living room and walked off down the hall to the bedroom. 

Half an hour later, he was lying in bed deep in his novel when a noise in the doorway made him look up. Chris stood there, practically swaying on his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the doorframe. “Hey,” Zach said. 

“Hey,” said Chris. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

Chris came in and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “You know how I get,” he said. “I’m just tired, and this shoot was kind of a pain in the ass and then my flight was delayed, and--” 

Zach scooted across the bed and put a hand on Chris’s leg to still him. Then he leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Get in here and go to sleep,” he said. 

But Chris reached up and cupped Zach’s cheek, deepening the kiss. “I feel all wired, though,” he said. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep like this.” 

Zach snorted. “You’re so subtle,” he said. “Okay.” He stretched out on the bed, undressing without pretense, making no bones about watching as Chris did the same, stepping out of his pajama bottoms and tossing them in the direction of the hamper. 

Zach patted the space next to him on the bed. “Now get in here and let me tire you out,” he said. 

He took his time, despite his promise to wear Chris out. And despite all his protests, Chris really was tired. He let his eyes fall closed as Zach worked him open, stretching him carefully with first two and then three fingers. He wasn’t sleeping, though, far from it. Periodically he’d arch his back or spread his legs wider in answer to Zach caressing the inside of his thigh. Zach watched his face, noting the tension there, the furrow between Chris’s brows that wasn’t going away. Chris licked his lips, and in the low lamplight Zach thought the familiar gesture looked particularly obscene. Chris was hard, his dick flushed and curving up over his belly. He opened his eyes and sat up slightly, looking at it and then up at Zach. 

Chris blinked, and the lamplight caught a liquid sheen in his eyes. Zach sucked in a breath and crooked his fingers inside Chris without thinking about it. Chris gasped and shuddered around him. “Please,” he said.  
Zach nodded. He pushed into Chris slowly and carefully, lowered his body over Chris’s and taking his face in his hands, closing his own eyes to relish the feeling of Chris all around him. 

“I missed you so much,” he muttered. 

“Yeah,” Chris said. “Me too.” Zach could hear the thickness in his voice, the way it seemed like his throat was closing up on the last word. He opened his eyes and looked into Chris’s, saw the way his eyes glistened and brimmed. Chris stared at him for a long time, and Zach felt torn between comforting Chris and just looking at him, because he got the feeling he could look at Chris like this forever. Finally, Chris took a shuddering breath and looked away. 

“Are you all right?” Zach whispered. 

Chris nodded halfheartedly, then shook his head. “I feel--” He shifted down on Zach as if by accident, taking him deeper. They both cried out, Zach’s head falling forward. Chris reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead, then dropped his hand to his own chest. “It feels like something’s stuck,” Chris said. “Right here.” 

Zach looked into Chris’s eyes. He had an idea, he thought. Maybe it’d go badly wrong, but he had this feeling--

“Yeah?” he asked, running the back of his hand lightly over Chris’s cheek. He took a deep breath as Chris nodded, sniffed like that time on the couch, years ago now. “You know, I read something once,” he said. Chris looked curious, but didn’t say anything, so Zach went on. 

“I read that crying makes you feel better because it releases all these hormones that make you feel good,” he says, stroking along Chris’s cheekbone. “And that they’re different depending on why you’re crying, right? Even the tears are different, like if you analyzed them, they’d be different.” He rolled his hips slowly, in and out, and Chris’s fingers flexed on his back. 

“You’re a crier,” Zach said. “You cry. And...you want to cry now, don’t you.” 

Chris nodded, gave a little squeak. He grimaced, and suddenly his body seemed to spasm as he gave a great dry sob. Zach looked at his eyes, though: no tears. 

Chris shook his head. “I’m not sad,” he said. “Not really.” 

“Shh,” Zach said. “I know. But look, you’re happy to be back. And you’re tired, aren’t you? You’re so tired, Chris.” 

Chris nodded, and for a moment Zach thought he looked like a sleepy child. “And I’m here, inside you, and it feels so good. Right?”  
Chris nodded again. 

“So think about what those tears are like,” Zach whispered. He felt like his dick was getting harder, if that was even possible to feel while it was squeezed so tight inside Chris. He swore he could feel it, though, a big pulse of blood called up by these words he was saying, by what he imagined Chris doing. “Think about how good it would make you feel.” 

“I want to,” Chris said, his voice cracking. “I want to.” 

“Yeah,” Zach said. “You want to cry yourself to sleep with me right here, fucking you?” 

Chris nodded. “I can’t, though,” he said, whiny. “I don’t think I can just do it.” 

“But they’re right there,” Zach said. "Right?" He ran a careful finger over one of Chris’s eyelids. He was starting to feel like he was babbling, like he could coax Chris’s tears forth with words. He could, probably; say something sharp. But it didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem like those were the kinds of tears Chris should be crying right now, not when he’d been gone for so long, not when Zach loved him so much. 

“Let me help you,” Zach said finally. “I think I can help you. Do you...do you want that?” 

Chris grabbed Zach’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, pressing Zach’s fingers to lips ravaged by recycled plane air. “Please,” he said quietly. “Zach--” 

Zach nodded. His heart pounding, he leaned down and kissed Chris quickly. Then, before he lost his nerve, he carded his fingers through Chris’s hair, thanking whoever had mandated a slightly longer cut. He got a solid grip, and then he yanked. 

Chris yelped, sitting up and staring at Zach in a split-second’s worth of naked rage that almost, almost made Zach regret it. Then, though...then the tears came, and they were so beautiful that Zach knew with a clench of his gut that it had been worth it. Chris’s mouth fell open and tears rolled down his cheeks before he’d even made a sound, and then he sobbed again, the movement of his body making them both gasp. Zach pulled out and thrust back in, letting the pleasure wash over him as he watched Chris, his face growing red and blotchy, blooming with color and shiny wet. Zach bent to kiss Chris again, kissing around to his cheek and licking up the tears that fell there. Zach thought they did taste different, though it might’ve just been his imagination. Chris moaned, and Zach sank his teeth into the plump apple of Chris’s cheek, laving the oblong stamp of toothmarks he left behind as if in apology. 

“Fuck me,” Chris said. “Hard. Please, I need it hard, Zach.” 

“Oh god,” Zach moaned. “Fuck, yes.” He kept a hand on Chris’s face, rubbing his thumb in slippery circles, and as Chris’s body shook with sobs Zach held him at the hipbone for purchase and pulled almost all the way out, slamming in hard enough to send Chris sliding up the bed. They were both close, he could feel it in the tension singing between them even without the practical knowledge of just how long it had been since they’d last been together like this. 

He sat up, loathe to move but understanding that this was the way to do it, the way to give Chris what he needed. He thrust experimentally until he angled just right, the way that made Chris throw his head back and howl, and so he pounded Chris relentlessly while he jacked himself and sobbed on the bed. He cried like the tears were welling up from somewhere deep within, a font of stress and exhaustion and who knew what else, one only Zach could purge. When he came, Zach saw it coming. Chris’s stomach clenched and his balls drew up. He fell silent, throwing his head back and opening his wet, pink mouth. Zach wished he had a fucking camera, because Chris looked ecstatic in the religious sense of the word, like a Bernini sculpture, marble molded pornographically, wracked with exquisite pain. 

Zach moaned helplessly, thrusting into Chris one last time. He stayed there, filling Chris up, feeling a bit like crying himself. Instead he pressed their bodies together, relishing the sticky mess of Chris’s come. Chris wasn’t crying so hard now, just making little muffled noises into Zach’s neck, and Zach ran his hands through Chris’s hair again, softer than before. They lay like that for a long time, until Zach softened and slid out of Chris. Zach shifted and sighed, and when he looked up at Chris’s face he found that Chris had indeed fallen asleep, mouth gaping like a fish, eyelashes damp. Zach touched them carefully, watching them catch the lamplight and sucking his finger into his mouth one last time. Then he kissed each of Chris’s closed eyes, and dragged himself from the bed to get a washcloth. 

Chris barely stirred as Zach ran the cloth over his skin, murmuring slightly as Zach dabbed at his stomach, checking to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. Zach tossed the cloth into the hamper and slid in next to Chris, turning off the light. His last thoughts before he drifted off were of just how hard it’d be to color match the florid pink of Chris mouth at the precise moment his eyes spilled over. But Zach didn’t guess it mattered much, because he suspected he’d have that image behind his own eyelids for a long fucking time.


End file.
